Who is she, where she's from?
by NeoStrand
Summary: A stranger is at the Diogene Club, unconscious. No one know exactly who she was. Holmes' brother seemed to know something about her, but not telling. Russell is puzzled
1. Default Chapter

Well here goes nothing. I've just joined your honorable (giggles) society and this is my first story. I've been a big fan of Mary Russell ever since I knew of it, and of Sherlock Holmes for god knows how long. But this is not a pastiche but with a lot of my own creation. If you are one of those canon purists (can you believe I'm one, too, but I like Russ for her own sake), please bear with me, so enjoy.  
  
The Time:  
  
It has been an eternity since the height of D'Lana, the Trinity Order, and the Conqueress. These past glory became no more than a swift of smoke in the memories of her people. Yet, there are those who would not forget and those who would not forgive. The Conqueress is still among us, She-That-Was- And-Will-Be, forever.  
  
The Story:  
  
I have always known of her, of her place in his life before me, and of their child. I was not jealous of her, not so much a passing envy. What I felt most strongly about this woman is curiosity. I cannot but wonder about this extraordinary person who had dominated Sherlock Holmes' heart for at least three decades, even in her death.  
  
No, she was not the fictitious Irene Adler, well, not directly. Uncle John did use her character to compose his story "A Sandal in Bohemia." Even her English name was the unscrambled form of "Irene Adler," but their story was a completely different one. It is a story that pains whoever tells it, and it is best not to be told, at least from me. What I am about to unfold, Dear Reader, is a continuation of that story, which I am personally involved in, and which is considerably less bitter than the former.  
  
It was in the fourth year of our unconventional marriage. We took the opportunity of a warm autumn day to visit London. For me, the whole day was filled with the visit at the British Museum, callings at acquaintances (I suspect it's "contacts" for Holmes), and some rather half-hearted shopping. We agreed to meet at the Diogene Club and go to Mycroft's for dinner. When I got there, I found Mycroft sitting at a desk, frowning. I found it strange especially when he did not see me until I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. In his eyes, there was a look of a man just woke from a dream.  
  
"Oh, Mary, it's you," he did not sound that he was pleased of my entrance, "where's Sherlock?"  
  
"I suppose I am ignorant of his whereabouts as you are," I've never retorted Brother Mycroft in this way, but he was the first one who was not playing nicely. "Trouble?" Nonetheless, I felt sympathy for my brother-in- law, he seemed far from the usual good-humored Mycroft.  
  
He either did not hear me or was addressing my question in an indirect way, "since that you are here Mary, there is something, no, someone, I want to show you."  
  
I instantly felt like a child on Christmas morning, couldn't wait, but I constraint myself, "who is it, Mycroft?"  
  
He smiled in a most curious way, "I am not sure." 


	2. second i can't think of a creative title...

For those of you who are utterly utterly confused, it's all right. A lot of these are my own creation, so you have to wait for the plot to unfold. ( Btw, if there is something really bothering you, please let me know. God knows I'm not the best writer/explainer (is this even a word?) in the world. ----------A  
  
I never knew there were so many turns and twists in the Diogene Club. It was like a maze. Mycroft walked ahead of me and never said a word. I felt dizzy. There were no windows in the corridors and the place was lighted by yellow electric lights that buzzed loudly. I did not even realize that we have gotten to our destination until Mycroft stopped in front of a closed mahogany door. He nodded to a man who was apparently a guard, and then we were permitted to go in. This room brought some unpleasant memories to me. A large empty whitewashed room with a small window that was shut off by blinds. I felt like I was brought back to the time when I was shot in the shoulder. That room. However, there was something else that reminded me of that incidence. Her. That girl. That child. That painful peacefulness.  
  
She couldn't be more than sixteen. Her slim form hid under the colorless hospital sheets. I don't know what cause me to think that, but I turned to Mycroft, "is she- "  
  
"No, Mary. She's not dead, but in a high fever due to infections," Mycroft sounded as if he rather had her dead than alive to be bothered with.  
  
Her hair was short, clipped above her neck, wavy and wild. I had never seen anyone's hair so pale, an ashen blonde. She was not exceptionally pretty or beautiful, but I could not stop staring at her face. There was a grace, a sheer elegance of a Greek statue, or maybe a near-death charm that rob people's hearts. Nevertheless, years of training kicked in. I noticed the bandages visible from under the sheets, the thin layer of perspiration on her forehead, and a nurse. The nurse was a stout woman with greying hair and a chest too large. Mycroft asked about the patience's conditions. She replied, "Her fever's still high, Mr. Holmes. Poor thing's been murmuring the whole day through. There's nothing I can do to stop the pain, too much morphine already."  
  
"What happened to her, Mycroft?" I asked. Gun wounds, knife blows, and thug beatings were the few things jumped into my head.  
  
"A car accident, yesterday. Hit-and-run, two blocks from here. Most shameful, right before a mother with two toddlers."  
  
"Is there a description of the vehicle?" I just hoped the mother had her eyes peeled.  
  
"Yes, a black T-model, which narrowed it down to half of London," Mycroft slumped into the only spare chair other than the nurse's.  
  
I knew there were things he was not telling me. Not wanting to, I suspect. But why? I had to corner him, "why is she staying here instead of a hospital?"  
  
It was when the girl's eyes popped open and she cursed, "merde." 


	3. third

Okay, problem. There is a curse in French, should I make this thing pg-13 or rated r? Anyway, I can't wait, so I posted 2 chapters in one day. And please tell me more about model-T, I think I made an inaccuracy.  
  
She felt her stomach (which was the part that was wounded) and took a deep breath with pain. Then she rubbed her forehead and took a look around with bloodshot grey eyes, "Where the deuce am I?" Her voice was snappy and clear, even echoed in the small room. The three of us looked at her as if we saw a wooden doll came to life.  
  
The situation must seemed ridicules to her, for she grimaced as she took a good look at us. The nurse was the first one to recover, amazingly. She said, "miss, you mustn't get up. You are hurt badly."  
  
"Yes, Miss- " Mycroft dangled his hand in front of him. He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't know who she was. So. why the special treatment?  
  
"Finn, just Finn," she rubbed her nose with her right index finger and grimace again.  
  
"Miss Finn, you were in a car accident yesterday. Do you recall any of the incident?" As I expected, she shook her head and nearly fainted with the action.  
  
"Miss Finn, you must go back to sleep," The nurse ordered sternly. The child obeyed quietly and was fast asleep.  
  
"Interesting specimen, Mycroft," I said as the guard closed the door behind me.  
  
He blushed deeply and finally said what I wished him to for the past hour, "Mary, I know I shouldn't keep you in the dark, but this situation is delicate. It also concerns Sherlock. I don't want to reveal to you anything without his consent."  
  
"What do you mean by that it concerns Holmes?" I was agitated, I'm afraid.  
  
"Mary, you know about Lady Aline, right?"  
  
Nathan's mother. Was it only last year that Nathan, Holmes, and I broke the most important case of the decade? It seemed a lifetime ago. I missed that tall boy. Ha! The tall man who was several years older than me, but still acted like a boy in front of his father. It was strange to think that I was his stepmother, very strange.  
  
"You have seen pictures of her, right?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Do you. umm. detect any. umm. resemblance between her and Miss Finn?"  
  
Merde. God, was I slow. Although none of the old black-and-white photos were clear and Alinere's hair was dark and brown, their faces and their expressions were very much alike.  
  
One of Mycroft's secretaries came up to us as we walked back to the Stranger's Room. "Mr. Holmes," he said, "a telegram just arrived for you."  
  
It ran: M SPAIN--- CASE. APOLOGIES TO R. URGENT. SH  
  
This time, a good old Anglo-Saxon oath from me. 


	4. fourth

Sorry, but I felt that I HAD to change my pen name. There is something about writing under the name of your main character that bothers me, a great deal. So, whatever problems I have caused to my readers I'm ready to apologize. (Not that I think I have many readers from the number of reviews I received. *hint, hint*) well, I'm writing for my own pleasures, so ENJOY.  
  
Holmes was off to Spain, to God-knows-what. Mycroft and I were in London, stuck with a God-knows-who. Silence with Mycroft, unlike the case with Holmes, was awful. I asked him for Finn's belongings, but these were inconclusive. A tattered outfit dirty as a mole rat, a few spare small coins, and a pair of huge army boots probably stolen from a dead soldier during the war. How did the child know French? Of course, there were urchins on the streets who could curse in several languages in one sentence. But when I pondered some more, something was not right. Her hands were not a poor working girl's hands. Although hidden under the sheets most of the time, I could remember the long thin fingers with the delicate skin. There were some mild calluses on the inside, but they were recent and fresh.  
  
Her striking resemblance to a woman who died years ago made no sense, unless she was a relative or even a daughter. Mycroft told me that there were no records of Alinere having a third child. In fact, records showed that she died four years before the girl was even born.  
  
The nurse left me alone with her. I rested my chin in my hands. Holmes had always said that Nathan took after his mother. She did look a little like Nathan, especially the aristocratic nose and the high forehead. I took a deep breath. My second book was in the finishing process, perhaps it was time for me to take a vacation off from Oxford.  
  
The next day I came back and found Finn sitting up in her bed. She said that she felt much better and would like to leave soon. "Maybe I can repay your kindness in some small ways, Miss Russell," she said sincerely. There were tints of pink in her cheeks.  
  
"Well, maybe you can tell us who you are," Mycroft said blandly. He stood sternly in the doorway, with stacks of papers under his arm. I had never heard him talking in that tone to anyone before. He was always the gentle and big Mycroft.  
  
She looked surprised, "why? I'm just Finn, with no last name, no family, no home, just Finn."  
  
"Well, 'Just Finn.' Perhaps you can explain this," he said coldly and threw a stack of paper in front of her. She glanced at it indifferently and didn't even bothered to pick it up, "my compliments to the British secret agency, Mr. Holmes." 


	5. fifth

This one took longer than the others. I had been pretty busy lately. *Grumble.* Well, got any suggestions? My dear readers? I'm sort of running out of ideas here. Not now, but soon.  
  
"Gertrude Blackcastle, daughter of Count William Blackcastle of Russia. Born April 21, 1911, Moscow, Ru. In custody of brother: Duncan Blackcastle, resided in Yorkshire, until guardian's death, July 1918, with wife: _____, sons: Scott, Simon, Patrick, Philip, and George Blackcastle. Reason of death(s): shipping accident. Transferred to the custody of the court, October 1918, attends Gillette Boarding School for Girls (Austria) till today. Approximate sum of inheritance: 50 million pounds, with titles of countess (Ru) and ladyship (British)."  
  
A photograph of this scrawny homeless girl in front of me was pasted onto the file. She was wearing a satin white dress and curled hair with wide ribbons, at no more than the age of thirteen. She was the heiress to one of the most influential and richest men of Imperial Russia, and she had been on the streets of London, begging, stealing, and cheating for at least the past months. (Ahem, I judged from the condition of her hands, feet, and clothes) Amazing.  
  
"William Blackcastle," I whispered, "wasn't he Alinere's brother?" Now the family resemblance issue was solved.  
  
"So, you found me out, what are you going to do with me?" she drew her knees up to her chin and hugged her legs close. "Return me to school? To Austria? You have no right. I don't belong there." She hugged herself closer and pressed her right cheek on her right knee, eyeing me.  
  
I flipped to the second page and scanned the rest, these were nothing but ordinary social outings and school records. I pushed it away and turned to Mycroft, "who exactly is she?" I knew that a regular "daughter of the wealthy elite" could not travel across five countries and know how to survive on the streets of London.  
  
"Mary, this is one of the rarest occasions that I will say this: 'I don't know.' However, I suspect that she has some relation with the Trinity Order," he cleared his throat, which was a bad sign.  
  
The Trinty Order was the oldest and most discreet political society in Europe. Its beginning could be traced back to before William the Conqueror, and its height of power was during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in which the monarchy was the absolute rule on the Continent. Their motto was "The kings ruled, and we ruled the kings." Nevertheless, their power was lost as monarchy struggled in the last century, until a few decades ago, it had officially perished. I had learned all of these from Nathan, whose mother belonged to the central family of this order. Nevertheless, it was once the most powerful force in Europe. Its power was still to be stood in awe of and even feared. These few families controlled the social, political, and economic spheres of the world like a game of dice. It was amazing that their power could actually die out.  
  
Finn gave a bitter laugh, "The Trinity Order? The Trinity Order is dead." She looked away, then she turned back to us, "I am here because I need to find someone, someone of my family, someone close to me."  
  
My heart softened at the look of her face. At the same time, something clicked in my brain. Her brother's family was dead. Austria. and the name "Finn." Nathan. 


End file.
